Autumn's Simple Touches
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: Autumn's crinkling leaves bring about forgotten memories, and simple autumn touches leave a pair with questions about each other. RanKen


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_**Autumn's Simple Touches**   
The Weaver Atropos  
((Started)) 11.27.03--7:30 p.m.  
((Finished)) 11.28.03--1:00 p.m. _  
((Comments)) Ranken one-shot--shounen-ai…very ridiculously vague . An inquisitive Aya and silent Ken (the roles seem reversed) since its usually KxA I decided to go for AxK ! Oh yea, vague KasexK references. 

_Oh, and thanks to Solaris1 and Jenken for pointing out some facts about Ken!_

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**Something About Autumn's Simple Touches**

There was something strangely fascinating about the arrival of autumn. For one, death became beautiful; the dead leaves and petals scattering to the ground held a sort of compelling brilliance. For another, it was the season in which the all-around athlete of Weiss took it upon himself to grind every last leaf into the ground, delighting in the crunching sound of its death against the sole of his sneaker. What a morbid analogy. Aya shook his head absently.

He hadn't noticed it at first, Ken's absolute rapture with autumn. Aya'd always figured the brunette to be more of a summer kind of guy, what with soccer being more of a summer sport than anything else. Yet, come fall, every year without fail, the ex-soccer player would become almost aggravatingly energetic about the house. The mornings at the flower shop—though just as hectic as always—seemed to interest him much more; he went hopping from arrangement to arrangement, plucking irises and tulips a bit roughly into their vases. That had always ticked Aya off, just a bit. Perhaps it was the fact that he shared his name with a flower, but seeing something gruffly put in an arrangement ground on his nerves. Ken didn't do it on purpose, though. He _never _did.

Like the time he'd forgotten how messy soccer cleats could get. _I didn't mean to…!_ He'd said then, angry flush flooding into his cheeks at being called careless once more. And then there was the time he'd forgotten about dinner…and left it burning on the stove for the next person to find. Luckily, it was Youji, who, much accustomed to the smoke of his cigarettes, seemed quite immune to the smoke that hung thickly in their kitchen. It was a miracle the entire house hadn't burned down—Koneko and connected apartments included. And Ken? He'd been upstairs watching a soccer match. Even Youji had rolled his eyes.

Still, there was something about Ken's absentmindedness that was oddly endearing. From the way his cheeks would burn with embarrassment and irritation to the way he would nibble nervously on his lower lip when he'd done something wrong. Aya smiled faintly, risking a glance at his companion.

It wasn't something that was rarely done—Aya smiling vaguely at Ken's antics, and Ken biting nervously at his lips. More often than not, the brunette was rather careful about upsetting him, though, just as often—if not more—he succeeded in earning Abyssinian's glare. It was all an act, though. As much as Aya would hate to admit it to his assassin training, he could never be angry at Ken for more than a few minutes. After the initial exasperation died, Aya would feel a discomforting churning of his stomach.

Recently, he'd taken to calling him Rose. It was a joke Youji'd conjured up to irritate him. And irritate him it did…until Ken adopted the name. It was odd how Aya could feel near murdering his playboy teammate when the man dared utter the name, yet mildly accept the nickname when it came from Ken.

He wasn't sure whether or not to thank Youji for it.

As it was, he was already torn between strangling the blond at his suggestion that both he and Ken go out for , "a healthy game of soccer." When Aya had challenged him as to why _he_ couldn't go kick around some balls with Ken, the man had simply answered with a suggestive smirk. "Because…you would do _so_ much better in that department. I just _know_ you've had experience.'

Whether or not the statement had been meant to annoy him, Aya felt his cheeks burn for what might've been the first time of his life. Yes, sometimes Youji seemed to like the idea of death…

And so, here he was, trudging absently alongside his energetic teammate, silently grateful for the heat the other body radiated. Ken was all but oblivious to him, dribbling the ball expertly along with his feet, exhilarated by the simple idea that someone from Weiss had finally, albeit somewhat reluctantly, agreed to join him for practice. Well, he called it practice. It was more for fun, really.

"Ne, Aya?"

Aya offered an acknowledging nod. "Youji said you've played soccer before. Did you?"

The redhead's cheeks burned at the memory of Youji's suggestive comment. "No."

"Oh…" Ken sighed disappointedly. "Then why'd he say you did?"

Aya shrugged. Ken tried again. Whenever he was with Aya he tried as much as he could to draw the silent man from his shell. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't. It depended on Aya's mood. "So you're not a soccer fan. What _are_ you a fan of?"

Aya, who had been a few steps behind Ken, content to give him enough space in which to kick around his blessed soccer ball, paused in mid-step. He cocked his head curiously in thought, idle strands of crimson falling into his face at the action. He blew them aside impatiently, crossing his eyes as he struggled to focus on the offending locks. Ken burst out in sudden laughter.

Curious, Aya righted his figure, crossing his arms about his chest indignantly. "What, may I ask, is so funny?"

Ken glanced at him once more, before breaking out in renewed chuckles. Using his right arm to try and straighten himself, he gripped Aya's shoulder in what he thought was a casual touch. Electricity shot through the redhead the moment Ken's fingertips curled about his skin.

Granted, it wasn't the first time Ken touched him. Living together in the same apartment and working in a cramped space certainly warranted for gratuitous contact—whether it was an unintentional brush of the hand as they handed each other a new vase or an order, or a more vigorous grip during missions to help each other up a wall or roof. And then, of course, there were _those_ touches, which came with every mission. There was Ken gently bandaging Aya's injured arm, suddenly more articulate than ever, and there was Ken guiding him up to him room, not seeming to mind the weight Aya risked pressing against his body, product of a twisted ankle or sprained knee.

And then, there was the fact that Ken was of an affectionate sort. Even Youji, despite proclaiming himself the god of everything carnal and forthcoming, wasn't near as wanton with his touches. For one reason or another, Ken was always touching him…

Absently, Aya wondered if Ken ever resented the fact that his touches were ever rarely returned (with the exception of Omi, who was also quite liberal about expressing himself). Surely, after a while of not being reciprocated, he would stop…but strangely so, Ken hadn't.

"Aya?" Ken's hand tightened about the taller man's shoulder, smoldering chocolate eyes searching his curiously. Snapping back to reality, Aya shrugged, proceeding to walk forward again. Normally, he would've shaken off the younger man, muttering something about his personal space…but he'd grown used to the touches—gotten used to the attention.

"Tennis."

"What?"

Ken's face was a total puzzle.

"I used to like watching tennis."

"Used to?"

Aya nodded. "I liked the fact that it wasn't only skill that was involved. In soccer," the young man cast Ken a careful look, "it really only depends on the talent and communication of the players. Tennis is a little bit of that, a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of psychological intimidation."

Ken grinned. "Bet ya can intimidate anyone into losin', Aya."

Aya felt his lips twitch. A lot of people seemed to think that.

"So you never played, then?"

Aya shook his head no. "Doesn't matter, really," Ken whispered conspiratorily, " 'cause soccer's better anyway." Then, grabbing his hand unexpectedly, Ken pulled Aya along towards the soccer field, autumn leaves crunching softly beneath their feet.

Once they'd reached the field, Ken transformed into another person. Aya had seen him play before, but that was before he'd begun to develop a physical attraction to the talented soccer player. Now, he could appreciate just how amazing a player he was. Aya's lips tightened. He would have stilled been in the J-League if it hadn't been for Kase. He was still so young, and yet, he'd never be able to play professionally again. It must be horrible for someone who loved the sport so much.

Ken breathed soccer…he _lived_ it. A life without it…well, a life without it certainly accounted joining Weiss.

"C'mon, Aya!"

Letting his head snap up, Aya took in the sight of the smiling, tanned face and the exuberant arms being waved in his direction. Already nearly on the opposite side of the field, Ken's figure seemed incredibly minute in the expanse of the entire field. Beside him, Aya spotted two other people. One was a girl, the feminine outline easily identifiable amidst the that of Ken and another boy.

Trotting easily to join Ken, Aya was only slightly taken off guard when the brunette slung a casual arm over his shoulders. Gesturing amiably towards the other two people on the field, he began the introductions. "Aya, this is Hiro and Kikuno—they're playing against us."

Aya felt himself swallow thickly. There was a reason why he'd never been to inclined to participate in sports, and that reason was fairly simple: he wasn't good at them. The last memory he had of ever playing any type of sport had been in gym class, and being the last one picked certainly wasn't a fond thing to remember.

Leaning over at spotting the unusual hesitance in the redhead, Ken smiled. "Don't worry. I'm J-League, remember?"

The game began easily enough, Ken good-naturedly letting the opposing team dribble the ball clumsily along, occasionally getting close enough to the goal, only to be swept back by Ken's strong defense. If he were to judge Hiro and Kikuno on their gaming talent, Aya would have to say that Kikuno was far better than Hiro. He had a strong feeling she was on a sports team of sorts.

Aya, after fumbling the better of two goal attempts, had been banned to the goalposts, and had been grateful for it until Kikuno had sent a brutal kick in his direction, sending the soccer ball spinning straight into his gut. Ken, however, seemed to totally miss his teammate's distressed expression, deciding to concentrate on the fact that Aya had, though unwittingly, managed to block what would've been a 'sure goal.' Aya had never seen such a pleased expression on the young man's face and almost wagered to believe the pain was worth the smile. _Almost._

Ken, despite playing pretty much alone against Kikuno and Hiro—who, despite lacking some skill, was marginally better than Aya—was fairing well enough, only occasionally letting them slip by. Then, after what the redhead judged to be about two hours, Ken jogged in his direction, sweat drenched hair falling in matted waves about his face.

"I'm taking goally for now."

Aya glared. "I'm not playing against _her_."

Ken grinned. "Just for a bit? I miss goal-keeping."

That last bit was said with such sincerity that Aya felt compelled to leave the safety of the box. Not that it would be a safety any longer, as Ken would no longer be defending it. Somehow, Aya had a feeling Ken knew that and was looking forward to trying to block some good hits from Kikuno. As for him…he could've done without his sudden burst of compassion.

He was going to kill Ken. As it was, he'd already fallen twice on the ground, rising to find his jeans where slick with mud and grass stains. The more compulsory part of him had nearly cried out in agony while the competitive one had received a new bout of strength to go chase after Kikuno. Aya doubted he would've caught up if it hadn't been for the shape his nightly activities in Weiss kept him in. Ken was different, of course, waking up at the crack of dawn for a jog around the block, totally disregarding the weather—come rain or snow, or hell, _sleet_ –he would run. He wanted to maintain his playing level at its peak. _'I may not play professionally any more,' _he had murmured softly one day, _'but I still want to play the best I can.'_

He was so distracted that, having succeeded in stealing away the ball from Kikuno, he was brought back to reality by Ken's indignant burst of colorful language.

He'd kicked the goal into his own goal and Ken, not expecting such a move from his own teammate, had remained frozen at the opposite side of the goal. Across the field he could see Kikuno gleefully smack hands with Hiro who, not particularly settling for that, wrapped her in a sweet embrace, pressing a smooth kiss to her lips.

Aya didn't know what particularly made him turn his head to study his teammate at that moment, but when he did, he was mildly startled by the sheer longing lurking in Ken's eyes. For a moment they darkened with emotion and his eyelashes brushed his high cheekbones as he closed his eyes and sighed. Even more was he bewildered by what that precise emotion he had sensed. _Envy_…

But why would Ken…?

But the nineteen year old had already bounded off, the expression shaken off and replaced by one of gratefulness as he bounded towards the opposite goalpost to thank Hiro and Kikuno for the game. They'd lost, but Ken insisted that the value of the game was more important than winning.

After he'd waved off the two teenagers, Ken began to make his way back to Aya, his step slow and taxing. Aya took in the sight bemusedly. Even when tired Ken always managed to make use of abundant energy reserves…his tired demeanor just didn't suit him now. He was usually more pumped up than usual after a game.

"Let's rest for a while, ne?" Following Ken's lead, Aya walked closely behind the former goal-keeper and fell to the ground beside him when Ken chose to sit against the trunk of a large Sakura tree.

Something had happened in the last few minutes of the game to make Ken act so differently. Aya remembered the kiss Kikuno and Hiro had shared only a few minutes before and shot a curious look at the brunette. He thought he'd spotted a slight flush coloring the young man's cheeks when he'd caught sight of the embrace. That and a particular look of desire.

Ken's silence perturbed Aya more than he liked to admit. He had grown used to the amiable chatter the energetic youth provided. Whether or not Aya listened seemed irrelevant to Ken. He just wanted someone to talk to.

"Ne, Aya?"

Aya turned towards Ken, expecting to see the usually temperamental eyes flare up before him. Instead, a forlorn expression greeted him. His throat tightened.

"Have you ever…"

Ken drifted off when Aya looked away, choosing instead focus his gaze on the stars above. It had grown late. What had started out as a midday trip had long since blossomed into an evening stroll on a late autumn day. "Did you mean it?"

"Huh?" Ken glanced at Aya, confused for the second time that day.

"When you said you missed it. Goal-keeping, I mean—"

"Oh."

Aya watched attentively as the body beside him seemed to sag suddenly, the muscles loosening, the face seemingly growing older and more experienced. He was suddenly looking at the grown Ken…the tired, weary one—he was looking at Weiss Ken. The young man had brought up his knees and linked his arms carelessly about them when he'd first sat down, and now, he let his head hand between his knees. His gaze somewhat unfocused, he shrugged. "It was what I was born to do."

Pausing, and somewhat reluctant, he continued, "I know a lot of people think it's a dreamer's hope. Being a soccer player isn't exactly like being a lawyer, its something people admire, but not necessarily respect…but, I like it just as well. I just…I don't know, I guess I just wondered how it could've been. There'd've been no Kase, no Yuriko, no Weiss, no flower shop, no Omi or Youji, or…"

"Or me," Aya finished blandly. Ken nodded.

"No you."

" Would that have been better?"

Aya felt forced to ask. He didn't know why he found the question so important, or why he had such a necessity to know, but suddenly…suddenly Ken's answer became more important than anything else.

"No you?"

Aya nodded.

Biting his lower lip in thought, Ken detachedly scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the ground. Then, carefully, "Kase was a great friend…and—well Yuriko was one, too—and," Ken chuckled dryly, "where would I be without Weiss or Omi and Youji?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No…I guess it doesn't. You didn't say I had to."

"Ken—" Aya began, ready to argue, only to be quieted down by Ken's complacent wave of the hand.

"I had fun today."

"You have fun whenever you play soccer."

Ken smiled at the wry comment coming from the normally silent Aya. Sparing him a glance, he took in the crimson tresses, near violet eyes, and milky skin. He seemed so pale at night, Ken noted, taking in the pallid cheeks. Ken knew it was because of the moon. It made Aya's pale features more denoted…made him look more ethereal. And his lips…they were pouty and red, the lower lip always more swollen than the top. Ken smiled to himself. That was nearly the first thing Ken'd noticed about the katana-bearing assassin. Right before his fist had contacted with his mouth on their first meeting, Ken had taken note of how luscious his lips were. So red…lively—they screamed of wanting to be kissed…and yet, Ken knew better than to ever try and pull a stunt like that on Aya. Sure, he'd changed over the years, opened up more, perhaps, but it hadn't been a _drastic_ kind of transformation. Even if Aya…

"Ken?"

"Hmm?" crashing back to reality, Ken turned hazy cocoa eyes on Aya. It was hard to resist drowning in those amethyst depths. _And why should he?_ Ken shook away traitorous thoughts.

Aya glanced away, letting his eyes turn back to the sky. "You still haven't answered."

"Oh. Yeah." Ken fiddled apprehensively with the zipper on his shirt.

"It's not that hard a question, is it?"

"No…not really."

"Then?"

"Uh…well, I already said Youji and Omi have been good friends so that would—"

"No it wouldn't include me and you know that or you would've mentioned me along with them."

Aya was sure he heard Ken growl then. Sometimes Aya wondered if Ken's choice of weapon had anything to do with his territorial temper. Sometimes he resembled an overactive bear cub so much that it was frightening…other times he was a harmless puppy. "I guess…no, it would've been different without Weiss—I wouldn't be me."

"Weiss and me and different things, Ken."

_Yes, I know…You're so much more beautiful than any of us…_

"Then no, it wouldn't be the same without you."

The next question nearly made Ken grab a shovel, dig his grave, and cozily jump in beside whatever resided in the dark pit.

"Why?"

"Why are you talking so much today, Aya?"

"Curious. When I'm curious I don't stop until I'm not curious."

Ken cursed his luck. If there was anything Fujimiya Aya could be accountable for it was his ridiculous reserves of anal retentiveness. That and gratuitous Takatori references, but those were justifiable.

"Because you're our leader."

"That's still Weiss."

"Why are you so interested!" Ken stood and turned to stiffly glare down at Aya, who, being the master of death-glares himself, remained pretty much unfazed. His posture rigid, Ken continued, "If you're so damn curious, go find someone else to question."

Ken's demonstration only seemed to further feed Aya's fire. "Why were you so put off by Kikuno and Hiro kissing?"

"Have you gone stark-raving mad, Aya! This could possibly be the very first time you've muttered more than three monosyllabic phrases at a time, and the only use you put speech to is to interrogate me? We've already been through this when you were tailing Kase and me. I _know_ you don't trust me, but I'm not about to—"

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"Aya, I swear, if I didn't know better I'd swear Schuldich was toying with your mind." For a second, after saying just that, Ken glanced suspiciously about the clearing.

"Have you?"

"Have I what!"

"Kissed anyone?"

"Yes. I have. Have you?"

Aya remained silent. He remembered kissing a girl a while back—but it hadn't been an impressionable moment in his mind. It hadn't been as much of a milestone for him as everyone had made it out to be.

"Well?"

Aya nodded. "Yes."

Ken seemed to draw in a slow, steady breath before dropping back to his position against the tree. He was like that; quick to anger and easy to soothe. He normally didn't even bother with arguing unless he was really ticked, but Aya's infuriating calmness and sudden interrogation had sent him over the edge. Especially since he knew the redhead would never open up to an interrogation on _his_ part.

"Was she pretty?"

Aya shrugged. "Don't remember her."

Ken's interest piquied. "Why not? How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

"That's pretty late."

Aya glared.

"And…you still don't remember—I mean if you were seven or something…but eighteen? I mean you should've—"

"It was after Aya-chan was put in the hospital."

The words were soft and quiet. As if they were never meant to have been spoken. Ken's next teasing remark died in his throat. "Oh."

"I was alone. I couldn't be placed in an orphanage because I was already eighteen."

"And?"

"She offered a place."

"That's all?"

Aya shrugged once more. "And one day she kissed me. Nothing incredibly romantic. Just two stupid teenagers doing stupid things."

"Watch it. I'm still a teenager. Don't go trashing us."

The redhead felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips. He'd forgotten how young Ken was. He certainly didn't act his age—except for sudden spurts of child-like antics and the absolute refusal to clean his room.

"You?"

Ken shifted uncomfortably. "Me what?"

He was on the defensive again, Aya noted, taking in the narrowed, almost anxious coffee eyes.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Yuriko."

"That was last year, Ken. You can't go saying I started late if your first kiss was with Yuriko."

"I didn't say she was my first kiss. You asked if I'd ever kissed a girl."

Aya suddenly became aware of how astute Ken could be. He had to admit he often underestimated his bugnuk wielding teammate on bases of his more clumsy disposition. It was a good advantage to possess, he realized.

"So who was your first kiss?"

Ken seemed uncomfortable again. "Why are we talking about this, Aya? It's getting late and I have to—"

Ken all but had to glance quickly into Aya's eyes before knowing there was no way the redhead planned on leaving without an answer. "Okay," he sullenly replied.

Ken warily settled his gaze on Aya's eyes, swallowing thickly before continuing. "You have to remember I was drunk."

"I can't remember something you never told me."

Ken rolled his eyes, but clarified. "I was drunk."

"And how old were you?"

"Shut up."

Aya didn't respond, but held back any other comments he might had. Ken, for one, had no idea why he was suddenly trusting Aya with information he had kept secretly sacred for years, but knew that there was little chance of his getting out of the situation he was already in. "I was fourteen. And I wasn't drunk by choice. They spiked my drink."

"They?"

"Kase,"

Ken looked weary. Memories of the day were flitting back to him. He remembered the biting taste of the punch, the vibration of the music against his eardrums…the feeling of his new girlfriend pressed entirely against him. It was ironic, that he, the soccer star, despite already having had his numerous share of girlfriends, hadn't yet kissed a girl. He remembered the haziness he'd felt, and the pleasure that had coursed through his veins when Miko had pressed a suckling kiss at the base of his neck. The atmosphere had been so hot—and only gotten hotter with each kiss Miko scattered over his neck—that Ken had repeatedly taken to pouring himself a cup of punch. Since he'd never had any before, its slightly bitter taste hadn't seemed to him peculiar at all and, little by little, he'd gotten drunk.

Kase knew, of course, but had neglected to tell him on the basis that it would be 'an awesome joke to tell the team.' Ken hadn't thought so the day after, but than again, after what had happened, he hadn't had the energy to argue with Kase.

"And?"

Ken shrugged. "What happened, happened."

"And do you remember who she was, or not?"

Again, Ken grew red around the ears. "Yeah, I remember. I don't think I can forget." _Who would…?_

_"Ne, Ken-kun? One more glass?"_

_Ken nodded drunkenly. He was incredibly thirsty. He'd stopped dancing a while back and Miko was sulkily glaring at him from a corner of a couch. Ken wagered she was more annoyed by his still not having kissed her than at his current inability to dance. Besides, it had never been his idea to date Miko. That had been all Kase…as always._

_"Here, Ken-kun."_

_" 'gatou, Kase."_

_No longer bothering with the decency to sip from his glass, Ken downed the drink almost instantly. "Ne, Kase? What is this?"_

_"Hawaiian Punch. It's from America…that and a little bit of vodka." _

_Ken didn't seem to pick up on the last, whispered bit of Kase's sentence. "Oi, Kase, who do you think'll win 'morrow's game?"_

_"Us, of course."_

_Ken chuckled, wavering slightly off balance. "Bet ya we'll start."_

_"For sure. I might…not so sure about you, buddy."_

_Ken tipped precariously to the left, and only Miko's dramatic shriek was enough to make Kase grab onto the brunette before he solidly hit the floor. "Ne, Ken-kun, watch the floor, will you?"_

_Ken vaguely nodded. And then, "How come you always tell me you're not sure if I'll start?"_

"Did you like it?"

Ken started. "Like what? The kiss?"

Aya nodded.

"There's no way I couldn't have."

_"You're mom's goin' to kill you, Ken."_

_Ken slurred an unintelligible answer, the last part of which muttered something about 'that crazy woman who wasn't really his mom.'_

_"Kaaase?"_

_"Hmm?" Kase was struggling to keep up Ken's weight and remain as quiet as was possibly human at the same time. Ken might've been of slight build, but he was all tightly-packed muscle, and that kind of muscle was heavy._

_"Ya ever kissed 'one?"_

_A nod signaled his answer. "What's feel like?"_

_"Good."_

_Ken seemed amused. "Ev'thing's good for you, Kase."_

_The young man considered the remark and shrugged. "Ken?"_

_"Hmm?" Ken was slowly slipping away into unconsciousness. He could only just feel the hands rapidly working to undo his shirt and jeans, tossing them carelessly aside in favor of boxers and an oversized tee. _

_Kase was changing him with all the consideration of a parent. Then, he paused in his ministrations to pose a pensive question. _

_"How would you feel if you wouldn't start?"_

_Ken's eyes lazily fluttered open. He seemed to seriously be considering the question. "I hate it when you say that, you know—"_

_Kase grinned, "Yeah, I know."_

_"I'd feel like everything was over. Nothin'to live for. Might as well be dead. No soccer equals no Ken-kun."_

_"That much, Ken?"_

_The brunette nodded sleepily. "It's like you and those mafia movies of yours…"_

_Kase offered his friend a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, I know."_

_Ken was slowly drifting off. Kase nudged his friend roughly at the shoulder. "Ne, Ken-kun?"_

_"What, Kase?"_

_"How come you've never kissed a girl?"_

_Ken shrugged. "I'm thirsty, Kase."_

_" 'Cause you're thirsty?"_

_Ken chuckled. "I never kissed one 'cause I feel like I'll break them."_

_Kase seemed curious. "Whadda ya mean?"_

_"They're so small and little and…well fragile. I swear I'd feel less pressure kissin' a boy." _

_Before Ken had much bearing of what he'd said, the words has left his mouth. He wasn't all that concerned though, what with him being drunk and all. But Kase heard them, and the message they conveyed was very clear. "You'd kiss a boy?"_

_Ken sleepily nodded. "He wouldn't break."_

_"Who wouldn't?"_

_"A boy. He'd take it like a man. He wouldn't cry or anythin'."_

_"What makes you think girls cry when you kiss 'em?"_

_Ken shrugged. " 'ts what Miko said she was gonna do."_

_Kase rolled his eyes. "Ne, Ken-kun?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"I don't think you can start tomorrow."_

_"Why…?"Ken yawned as he posed the question. _

_"You'll be too confused."_

_"Huh!"_

_And before he had much time to think about it, a fleeting kiss was placed on his lips, the taste of bitter alcohol and sweet birthday cake lingering on his lips._

"And…?"

Ken glared at Aya. "And what?"

"You kissed her?"

For the love of his life, Ken would've never thought Aya to be so inquisitive! He shook his head no. "Then who did you kiss?"

"I didn't kiss anyone."

"Then why this whole story!" Aya seemed mildly exasperated.

"Calm down, Aya…I said _I_ didn't kiss anybody—that was because I was kissed."

"Oh. Who?"

Ken scratched the back of his head. "Well…"

Then, the brunette stood and walked a little ways away from Aya, still within talking range, but far enough to hide his burning cheeks. With his back firmly pressed against the grass, he cradled his neck against his arms and stared rapturedly at the sky. "It was Kase."

Aya, who had been about to go and join Ken, telling him there was no need to spill out his insides about his past, froze and later jolted back to reality at the mention of the name. Kase. Kase had brought a lot of trouble for Weiss, and he had brought a lot of trouble for Aya. Not only had he been forced to keep and eye on him, but he'd borne the brunt of Ken's anger after he'd found out Aya'd been tailing him. Then, after Ken himself did away with his best friend, Aya had been the one who'd received most of the brooding looks and, sharing an apartment with Ken, the one who'd most witnessed his friend's silent suffering. But he had never known the depth of Kase and Ken's relationship. He'd known they were best friends—soccer buddies since childhood—he'd thought Kase's take on Ken was a bit too possessive, but hadn't thought much of it, until now.

"Was he…you know—your lover?"

At the imposing question, Ken simply glanced in his direction and stared at him for a long time before letting his gaze drift back to the stars above. "He might've been. I don't know."

After much consideration, Aya stood from his perch at the base of the Sakura tree, cringing a bit when the ground beneath him crunched, and made his way towards Ken. The young man was sprawled carelessly on his back, one arm slung over his eyes, the other spread out neglectfully at his side. Hesitantly at first, and then with mounting courage, Aya took Ken's hand in his. The brunette was so startled by the touch, that he jolted, brown eyes boring incredulously into him.

Ken, expecting the touch to be vague and fleeting, was surprised even further when the grip about his hand tightened, instead pulling him closer until firm, milky arms were wrapped about his back.

"The leaves are crunching," he muttered clumsily, Aya's smooth arms suddenly too constricting and warm…too reminiscent of a past he had left behind…

The redhead seemed not to hear him. In his own way, Ken noted, Aya was very much like Kase. He was strong, domineering, perhaps even a bit manipulating…and most of all, had a complete aversion to the sound of crinkling leaves. Which was why Ken had such a habit of stomping around during fall. It had always bothered Kase, so he'd adopted it as a habit to tick off the other man. When he'd met Aya, he had no idea the effect would be the same, but had delighted in the knowledge just as well. It wasn't _everyday_ that Fujimiya Aya's calm composure was shattered, and even if it was just a momentary cringe, it was a crack in his perfect armor.

"I know."

_"You always know everything, Kase."_

His voice was so soft…so mellow—so…so unlike his usual self. Aya's tone of voice had never been anything but deep and hollow and now…now it was warm, smooth, maybe even teasing.

"I like the sound they make."

"I don't. Death is death in whatever way it is conceived."

_"I hate it. Makes me think I'm gonna die bein' stomped someday."_

"Kase used to play soccer with me."

"You were both soccer players."

"Yeah…"

Aya paused. "Did you start in that game? The one after the party?"

Ken smiled bitterly. "No. I was too sick from the alcohol. He was counting on it."

Aya ran a hesitant hand down Ken's perfectly tanned cheeks, and as he shifted, more autumn leaves crackled beneath him. Ken smiled. "Love that sound."

"You're sadistic."

_"I swear, you're sick, Ken."_

"I used to love rolling around in leaves in autumn."

"Used to?"

Ken smiled faintly. "The soccer field was always full of leaves. It took forever to clean up."

A far away glint settled itself in chocolate brown eyes. Then, Ken heaved a big sigh, and turned back to the sky, Aya's fingertips feeling warn against his ribs. "And when everything was collected, I'd trick Kase into rolling around a big pile. He'd feel horrible afterwards. But he never admitted it."

"You were killing a leaf," Aya argued, despite himself, in Kase's defense.

"So? When you're fifteen a leaf shouldn't be that important."

"Life is life."

_"Life is a life, Ken-kun…what if my life was that flower? Would you like it killed?"_

Ken pressed his lips into a fine line. "You're a lot like him, you know."

"What?"

"You and Kase. Two of a kind."

Aya bristled at being compared with what he thought to be a commonplace, cold-blooded murderer and deceiver. "I know you don't think so…but—he always did this."

"Did what?"

"Hold me in autumn. At night, we would talk and stare at the stars. Just like now."

"I'm not Kase."

"I know. But you're nearly the same."

"You know why I never kissed a girl?"

" Because you thought they were too fragile?"

Ken grinned. "Yeah. But…more than that, because I suppose I always hoped my first kiss was special."

"Was it?"

"If you called being kissed by a person who considered themselves to be your mortal enemy special, then yes…"

Aya sighed.

"I don't mind, you know. A lot of people might not understand, but Kase was a great friend. He was always there to help me when he could. His jealousy never stopped him from it. That's more than I can say for myself."

Aya's ears perked up. "Kikuno and Hiro, you mean?"

Shrugging, the young brunette sat up. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Why are you jealous?"

"I miss Kase."

The words were blunt yet soft, their sound almost lost among the whistling wind. "What about Yuriko?"

"What about her? What about you, Aya? Why all the questions tonight?"

"Curious."

Ken pursed his lips sarcastically. "You're never curious about Omi or Youji. You've never been curious about Sakura or Manx or Persian or—"

Aya shifted awkwardly. "What do you want me to say?"

Ken closed his eyes and yawned in one flawless motion. "Whatever it is you feel you have to."

"That I care for you?"

"If that's how you feel, then yes."

"And if that's not how I feel?"

Ken cracked open one cinammon eye. For a moment he seemed doubtful, and then all the uncertainty melted into distress and longing. "Then that's just how you feel."

His voice was so full of despair…so small and vulnerable. "And if it is?"

"If you care for me?"

"Yes."

Ken bit his lip and tried to keep his heart from racing. "Then…I'd say that I like you too."

Aya raised pale eyebrows, "And if I said I did too?"

Ken shrugged a little then, hiding his face by letting shaggy brown bangs fall into his eyes. "Then maybe I'd say I loved you."

As soon as the words left his lips, Ken felt Aya's fingertips leave their warm sentinel at his shoulder. Regretting his words almost instantly, Ken turned away, deeply breathing in the smell of moist grass and dirt. Quickly, and in what he hoped was a covert action, Ken roughly wiped away fresh tears from his eyes.

"Ken…?"

The brunette let out a small whimper, shoulders shaking slightly, but managed a whispered reply.

"Ken?"

"Sorry 'bout that, Aya." Ken turned back on his side an offered Aya a brilliant smile. Smile which promptly melted into another splurge of tears. And, almost sadistically, it struck Aya to note that Ken didn't make a sound as he cried—didn't sob, didn't grab at anything to console himself—he simply sniffled quietly to himself, curled together like a child without its mother.

And abruptly, almost out of the blue, Aya realized just how beautiful his partner's tearstreaked face was. Chocolate bangs askew and far from his face, Aya took in the sparkling brown eyes, dulled from the tears, and the tanned high cheekbones. He took in the rounded, somewhat pixie nose and the smooth curve of his upper lip, and slightly protruding lower one. Aya took in the flushed cheeks and wet lips…the despairing eyes and curling lashes…he took it in and couldn't hold back.

And that autumn, after a soccer game…the crinkle of dead leaves, and the smooth rustle of clothing, lips met lips and heart touched heart…

Lips met lips and soul touched soul in a simple autumn touch…

_Owari _

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed. My first RanKen._


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